On Second Thought, I AM a Saint.

I have spent countless hours parenting my daughters. We have three of them, and they all vascillate from quite pleasant and low-maintenance to "buckle up she's coming!" depending on the moment. They are girls. And they are MY girls. So, there is really no way of knowing who is gonna be doing/saying/feeling what from one moment to the next.

I have spent countless hours grooming them... the bathing, the clipping, the ballet-bunning! I have carted them from one activity to another. I spent long nights nursing and rocking and re-tucking all three of my precious angel baby heads. I have snuggled, and disciplined, and taught and trained, and blown it a time or  two. Or maybe more.

I have sat in waiting rooms during ballet classes, and tap, and hip-hop and contact improv, and doctor's appointments and pre-school evaluations. These girls have had stitches (okay, just London) and blood transfusions (wait, just London) and one maaaaybe fell in a fire that one time. (you guessed it, #London.) 

Diapers. Wiping. Accidents. Nightmares. Boo boos. Mean girls. The TALK. It's been a lot of exhausting time and labor-intensive grunt work. I mean, applying the sunscreen alone! 

Do you know how many times I have been called a saint for parenting my biological girls?

Zero.

Well, that's a lie. I make Tom call me a saint at least once daily. But unsolicited!? Not a single time have I been praised to the point of sainthood for being a "regular mom" and doing regular mom things.

I have done all of those same things for my boys. Just replace ballet buns with coconut oil and corn rows, replace dance classes with football (and putting back removed hearing aids, which is Jay's preferred extra-curricular activity to date) and replace the roller coaster of emotions with... wait, no, let's leave those in.

You get the picture. Lots of work, lots of good, lots of hard, lots of hair, lots of normal mom stuff. 

Do it for my girls? Nothing. Just normal.

For my boys? Instasaint.

Let's clear up one thing... I am not a saint. (Okay, theologically speaking, God calls his children saints because of his unbelievable grace. In that grace and mercy, he has chosen to see ME - total non-saint - through a pure, holy, and sanctified lens because he sees Jesus when he sees me.) Wow right? And also... huh? But that's not really what I'm talking about. I am not talking about biblical sainthood, I'm talking about the fact that people only view normal momming as saintly when done for a child who did not come out of my birth canal.

And I know the right position to take here, I am supposed to say that I am not a saint, and that it's a privilege and a joy to take care of ALL my children and I don't want to be praised and nominated for sainthood just because some of my kids came to me via adoption. I am supposed to say it's no different, and if I'm not a saint for momming my bio kids, then I'm not a saint for momming my boys.

I know that's the right answer. But guess what, I'm not gonna say that answer. I am not going to sit here and be outraged that people view what I do for my boys as saintly. Instead, I'm gonna go ahead and hop on the other side of this argument.

 

What I wanna know is this, why ISN'T anyone calling me a saint for momming my girls!? 

Have you even attempted to do a perfect crispy ballet bun? I don't wanna trash talk, but I don't know if Mother Teresa had the stuff to get it done. I am just saying. 

I know what I should say. Humble church lady mom would say "I'm not doing anything for my boys that I don't do for my girls, it doesn't matter that they are adopted. Please, don't call me a saint." 

Well, I'm not saying all that. Instead, please DO call me a saint. I love it. Every time I manhandle Tom into showering me with praise, it feels great. I agree with humble church lady about one thing, I am not a saint for properly caring for my adopted children. I want saintly props for properly caring for all my children. Less humble, less church lady... but, c'mon, people call foster and adoptive parents "saints" because people do truly recognize how hard it is to care for kids (especially those who are hurting) and adoption and fostering highlights the fact that they are doing all that loving and caring by choice. 

It's always a choice though. All parents have to choose to respond patiently or not. All parents have to choose to show up emotionally or to check out. All parents have to consiously choose to be gentle and soft or to blow a gasket. 

It's always a choice. With adoption the choice may appear more obvious, but real, active, engaged, conscientious parenting day in and day out IS a choice. So, go ahead old white lady in the waiting area, I AM a saint for sitting at my son's six and a half hour neuro appointment. 

But not because he was adopted. He's my kid, and I would do it for any of my kids. So would any good parent. 

It's just what saints do. 

There is No Quota.

You know how we all believe things that are irrational? C'mon, don't lie. You know what I am talking about. We all have things that are completely unreasonable, perhaps unbiblical, that we still believe. Maybe these aren't things that we believe consciously or intellectually, but based on the way we live our lives, they are deeply held beliefs that we have yet to uproot.

Maybe  I  you have some sort of lucky rain boots you insist on wearing when you speak publicly. Or maybe you are paranoid that if you playfully try out somebody's crutches, then you will end up needing crutches for realz, because you "jinxed" yourself.  (Dan Mann)  (You know who you are.) Or maybe you are one of the dozen people who, in a haze of disillusionment, suffer from the hopeful belief that this will be the year that the Buffalo Bills  stop being terrible at football  go all the way. Don't be too embarrassed, we all believe in something that is absurd.

Wanna know mine?

I recently discovered that I believe in what I have named The Law of the Quota. And here is how it all went down...

I grew up with some baggage - losses and pains and wounds that I wouldn't wish on anyone  except for maybe the person who invented those hotel curtains that block out every shred of light except that last sliver right at the center where the two curtains meet. Really? You couldn't take it a quarter inch further?  So, clearly, I have problems. But for the most part, I am functioning, by the grace of God, and I mean that literally... it is by His miraculous grace alone that I can even complete a sentence, let alone be a wife and a mom and a  terribly inconsistent  wildly hilarious blogger. So fast forward to January of 2013, when we brought home our son, Jay. He had a long and challenging road of health struggles that we did not see coming. Simultaneously, I sort of lost my best friend. Then, my husband, sort of lost his job. Then we spent the better part of the next year learning how to navigate his hearing loss, learning sign language, doing speech therapy and physical therapy, and a million other specialists for Jay, all while job hunting and in the midst of terribly expensive legal hiccups while finalizing the adoption (during a time, remember, when we had zero income) and learning how to navigate an open-adoption for the first time, and just so much weeping and gnashing of teeth. It has been a hard couple of years. It feels like at every turn, there has been a new challenge.

In the midst of all of this, our son Harper continued to display more and more signs of Reactive Attachment Disorder. We were a touch overwhelmed and did our best with all the needs piled on top of needs that we were facing, but each time we felt we were getting steady on our feet, life would cobra kai us right in the throat. And mama just can't take it any more.

But, remember that part about how there is always more? Yep. More happened.

We discovered a large lump on the back of Jay's neck. The one lump was the size of a grape, and doctor's discovered an additional chain of nodes coming down his neck and along his collar bone, as well as "numerous solid masses" in an ultrasound.

There is no quota. 

You can keep having things. Things can keep happening and there is no Law of the Quota that says that one family will max out, and only have to endure so much in a single year, or even in a lifetime. There is no tragedy vaccine.

You can just keep. on. having. things. happen. And I hate it and I want that law to be a real thing.

I haven't been able to sit down and write about all this with Jay because I also discovered another fake thing I believe is that if I talk about or pray about my worst nightmare coming to pass, that I am somehow giving God permission to take my baby away from me. I discovered that I am afraid to pray during a tragedy because I am afraid that any expression of faith makes me a willing accomplice if everything goes terribly wrong. And I am not willing, I am unwilling and I will go down kicking and screaming. So, I keep this (illusion of) control, and I refuse to speak to God for fear that He will mistake my desperate plea to Him as an expression of FAITH, and therefore a green light to take everything I love away from me as a test to see if that faith cannot be shaken. I don't want to pray for His will to be done, because I want MY will to be done. I don't want God up there thinking "okay, you prayed to me, now you better be ready to accept whatever it is that I see fit to dish out."

Wow. What kind of heinous misinterpretation of the scripture is that!?

Jay has a surgical biopsy scheduled for April 14th, but we have seen a significant improvement in the swelling of that lymph node as well as reduced swelling in the other nodes, and we are hoping to hold off on having surgery/putting him under anesthesia unless it is absolutely necessary. At this point, the doctors (and we) are cautiously optimistic that these are reactive lymph nodes, rather than the nightmare scenarios that I still lack the faith to say out loud.

Here is the truth. There is no Law of the Quota. To believe that I have exceeded the hardship limit is silly, and entitled, and offensive to those who have endured so much more hardship than I have. It is an affront to the mom who does not get to hold off on the decision to have her child's lymph node biopsied, because it is an emergency surgery with no sign of improvement. It is an affront to the man who lost his job when my husband did, and still hasn't found one. It is like spitting in the face of Christ, who carried his cross on this Good Friday so that we might lay down our sins and pleas and our nightmare scenarios because He has each of them covered in his blood and in his love and in his grace.

There is no quota. There is not a limit on how much we might suffer, but there is also no limit to how much that Jesus has already suffered by choice, in our place, for our sins. I am learning to pray that his will be done, and I am learning to make a plea to him in faith and not in an attempt to control a God who cannot be bound by my fears nor my folly. I am learning to ignore the ignorant and unbiblical fortune cookie theology that says God won't give me anything that I cannot handle. I am learning to be content knowing that He has allowed more than I can handle, that I might learn to remain on my knees, relying on him. There is no quota, no limit, to what we might endure on this side of heaven. But even if our lives take a beating as bad as the one the Buffalo Bills will undoubtedly continue to take until the end times, we can know that God is still faithful, even when our bodies are sick or broken, or in the unspeakable event that our baby's bodies are sick or broken.

Easter is a time to reflect on the miracle of Christ's resurrection. Some of you think that believing in THAT is the absurd thing. And it is pretty crazy, I'm not gonna lie. But, I can promise you this, when I stare down the road ahead - a lawless wild west of limitless loss and tragedy... I will take a crazy, counter-cultural faith in His limitless love every. single. time. The alternatives simply hold no hope.

God will either give us what we ask for in prayer or give us what we would have asked for if we knew everything he knows. - Tim Keller

An Honest Conversation

This week I misspelled the word "fundraiser" in a text message and autocorrect changed it to "fun drainer."

Yes, I thought.

That.

Exactly that.

Nothing drains the fun  and the sense of being a grown up  quite like fundraising.  

Here is how it all went down...Our talented and amazing friends, Brandi and Danny Ebersole took Tom and I out to a restaurant over Christmas break and said  nothing close to this, but this is all I heard  basically this, word for word, "Why don't we video tape you ugly crying while you spill your deepest family guts and we will put it on the world wide web for all to see!?"

It took a platter of really disgusting steamed buns and an obscene serving of bread pudding to stuff all my feelings about this proposal. If anyone else on planet earth had asked to make a video of us sharing such a deeply personal experience, I would have punched them in the throat. But, it wasn't just anyone. It was Brandi. Brandi! If anyone could be trusted to delicately handle our baggage with care, it would be her and her sensitive and gifted photographer/documentary making husband, Danny. As fellow adoptive parents, I knew they would know and convey our heart for Harper. And as an adoptee, I knew Brandi would understand the possible implications for Harper, if this were not handled with the utmost care. So, we hesitantly accepted this challenge to initiate a conversation about children with attachment disorders and other special needs that affect a child's ability to make healthy attachments. We all understood that these conversations are frequently silenced because of shame and fear. We knew that our own shame and fear would surface, and would threaten to keep us silent as well.

In fact, there were several occasions where I panic-begged Brandi and Danny to abandon ship, and destroy all footage. But, they believed in our family, and they believed in the power of telling your truth, and they believed in all of you. They believe that you would want to know our story and be a part of a creating a bigger story for our family, one of healing. So, we went forward in good faith that God would use our family's story to bring awareness and hope to someone who needed it, as well as resources and support for our family to be healed. As hard as the public ugly crying was, the fundraiser element is even harder for Tom and me.

It makes me feel like a little girl sitting at a lemonade stand waiting for customers. As an adult, I know that nobody really wants to waste even a dime on the watered down lemonade (that was undoubtedly prepared without any concern for what is sanitary) but we buy it anyways and we dump it out our car windows as soon as we turn the corner. Why do we do this? Because we want to support the little entrepreneur's willingness to be vulnerable and to put themselves out there. I feel like that little girl right now, but with the adult awareness that nobody really wants to waste a single dime on my  problems  lemonade. I feel like that little girl sitting there, with all her ugly hurts and failures exposed before the world, saying do you like my lemonade? 

It is terrifying, and it feels pathetic and humiliating and I keep returning to those moments of panic-begging Brandi and Danny to pretend we never agreed to this project, just to be spared from such feelings of raw transparency. But Brandi's ever-encouraging voice keeps reminding me of a few truths... 

Yes, we have a long and expensive road ahead of us... and yes, we could really use a community of people who are willing to generously walk that road and carry the financial burden along with us. Still her voice gets drowned out by the loud and faithful fear/shame combo that cranks itself up on a regular basis reminding me that "adults don't need money from other people because they should be able to manage on their own!" And ya know what, that is also true. We can manage. If nobody had any desire to partner with us, we would still make every possible sacrifice necessary to get Harper, and our family, the help he needs. But, there is something beautiful about the fact that many of you do desire to partner with us, and some already have.

We are overwhelmed by how many of you have taken the time to comment or share our video. We are overwhelmed by those of you who have generously given financial gifts, as well as gifts of prayer and encouragement. We are overwhelmed that anyone would be willing to pass their words, their dimes and their dollars on to us, so that we can get Harper the best care possible and be relieved of carrying the heavy financial and emotional price tag alone. It is that humbling sense of gratitude that makes me feel a little less like I'm selling refreshments, and a little more like I am the one that is being refreshed.

To view the video, or if you feel led to participate in this mission to bring healing and wholeness to a remarkable boy, our sweet friends have organized this "fun drainer" which we invite you to share with anyone who could benefit from hearing our story. 

http://www.gofundme.com/Capuanosupport

My Child is Not Struggling Because...

Over the past few years, the following things have been offered to us as possible causes for what we are experiencing with Harper. Most of the time the suggestions have been made in love purely out of concern, and occasionally they have been "casually" dropped into a conversation in correction or judgement. Some are shoved down our throats via Facebook articles and blogs. So let's take a look at the disordered attachment cause d'jour. 

We are going through this...

- because we didn't spank him.

- because we spanked him too much.

- because he doesn't have enough structure.

- because we are too rigid with him.

- because he needs tough love.

- because we musn't love him as much as our biological kids.

- because he's the only black/adopted child. (Before Jay.)

- because Jay's adoption is open. (After Jay.)

- because it's genetic.

- because we don't have a nurturing environment.

- because we aren't consistent enough.

- because we are too firm.

- because we were too open with him about his adoption.

- because we weren't open enough with him about his adoption.

- because white couples shouldn't have black children.

- because you shouldn't "mix" adopted and biological children in the same family.

- because he needs to learn self-discipline/self-control.

- because he needs a physical outlet.

- because he doesn't get enough attention.

- because we've let him be the center of attention.

- because we don't follow through.

- because we don't show enough grace.

- because we have let him get away with things.

- because we never let him get away with anything.

- because he needs medication.

- because he needs play therapy.

- because he didn't get enough skin-to-skin contact.

- because we aren't on the same page as parents.

- because we didn't do the family bed. 

- because I didn't wear him in a sling enough.

- because I wore him too much and he got spoiled.

- because I used "separation" tools like strollers, bouncy seats, etc.

- because I didn't nurse him.

- because I did nurse him, and that's unnatural.

- because I let him cry it out.

- because I answered his cries too readily.

- because I am too uptight about what he eats and drinks.

- because I am too loosey goosey and don't have him on a specialized diet. 

- because we don't have a strong enough marriage.

- because we don't pray enough.

- because we've neglected the spiritual element of child-rearing.

- because we over-spiritualize everything.

- because we haven't trained him biblically.

- because I am too distracted.

- because he is too distracted (attention deficit).

- because we have too many kids.

- because we over-analyze.

- because we haven't analyzed enough.

- because we are making the adoption piece too big of a deal/love is enough.

- because we aren't giving the adoption piece enough weight.

- because we followed BabyWise.

- because we didn't follow BabyWise.

- because we eat healthy/he doesn't get enough treats and affection.

- because not local/paleo/organic/free-range/no red dyes/gluten-free/annato-free/preservative-free/dairy-free enough.

- because we aren't conscientious parents.

- because we are helicopter parents.

- because he wasn't taught responsibility.

- because he was given too much responsibility.

- because it's spiritual.

- because it's psychological.

- because it's emotional.

- because it's medicinal.

- because it's chemical. 

- because it's developmental.

- because it's neurological.

- because it's physiological.

- because he should spend more time outside.

- because I don't homeschool.

- because he rode the bus to school.

- because I pulled him out of school.

- because he's not in private school.

- because we aren't in a good school district.

- because our school district is too diverse/other black children are a bad example.

- because our school district isn't diverse enough.

- because we don't have enough black friends.

- because our black friends aren't playing a large enough role.

- because he needs a mentor.

- because he doesn't know enough adoptees.

- because he is too aware of his adoption story.

- because he doesn't know his whole adoption story.

- because he has a learning disability.

- because he's too smart for his own good.

- because he's bored.

- because he has anxiety.

- because we should ignore his behavior.

- because we should put him in a group home.

- because we weren't prepared for adoption.

- because we didn't know what to look for.

- because the adoption industry is crooked.

- because immunizations.

- because food allergies.

- because microwaved plastic.

- because he'll outgrow it.

- because boys will be boys.

- because hormones.

- because high-energy.

- because wheat.

- because....

- because...

- because...

Because, no. Because, shut up. Because... none of this. Or because, all of this. Because, I don't know yet... and because, neither do you. 

But what I do know this... attachment is attachment, sensory is sensory, fetal alcohol is fetal alcohol, autism is autism,  attention deficit is attention deficit. They are not all caused or treated the same way, and many cannot be prevented. Many present co-morbidly (at the same time as another) and so it is hard to distinguish between the two, or three, or four things going on at once. What might look like a parenting problem, may in fact be a neuropsychological disorder. 

There is no fast solve, and I know that is uncomfortable. There is no Facebook timeline article that can shame a mother into solving disorders or dysfunctions like these. There is not a vitamin for autism or  insecure attachment, nor a something-free/something-rich diet that repairs brain-damage caused in-utero. Being shamed into a pro- or anti-something parenting position is not going to be what heals my child.

"If one is sick and desires healing, it is of prime importance that the true cause of the sickness be discovered. This is always the first step toward recovery. If the particular cause is not recognized, and attention is directed to subordinate causes, or to supposed but not real causes, healing is out of the question." 

- David H. Kim (The Lord's Prayer Devotional)

I believe that Harper will be healed. But it will not be quickly, it will not be unexplained or mysterious, and it certainly will not be because I went wheat-free. Perhaps I am wrong, and I do believe that God can and does perform miracles, and perhaps He will choose not to perform an instant miracle healing solely because of my lack of faith here... But I really just believe that God is going to heal him over time. The miracle will be that we all still love each other on the other side of the process. 

Out of the Attachment Closet

I miss writing.

I don't know how to write what I refer to as "secondary content." I am just no good at that. I am a "primary content" kind of girl. I write about what is actually happening to me, right now. And if I write about something from the past, it is because it is what I am dealing with, right now. 

I almost feel dishonest if I write secondary content, it feels like I am skirting the real issue or something, and what is the point of sharing my life if I am just gonna skirt the real stuff.

But, I am in a hard place. My family is in a hard place, and I don't know yet how to share the primary content of our lives with the world in a way that makes the most sense for everyone involved. 

But I miss it. I miss splaying all my baggage out for the perusal of friends and strangers alike, in hopes that one of us gains a little insight, encouragement or, at the very least, the sense the we are not all doing this life alone. I miss writing because I process my life through writing, and right now... I have a lot to process.

So, in relatively vague terms, I am going to share and process the primary content of my life. But it is not just my life in crisis, but the lives of Tom and my children as well. So, please know that I am not trying to be mysterious and string anyone along for the sake of drama... It's truly out of the desire to honor my family.

My oldest son is struggling. He has always struggled, which probably comes as a surprise to anyone who knows him. He, more than any of my kids, is social and charming and engaging and is so loved by people it's like he is the mayor of a small town and everyone knows him and loves him. Everywhere we go, people remember his big, beautiful eyes and charming manners. He has always drawn people in. 

The other side of that is what we have learned is a heartbreaking sense of insecurity in his ability to attach. While he can superficially engage anyone he meets, he has never been able to make and keep deep, authentic attachments. Even to me.

Because of the circumstances of his pre-birth, birth and adoption, Harper has always struggled with attachment. It has always been a very challenging road for him, and for our family... But in the past few months, the effects of Reactive Attachment Disorder have escalated significantly.

We were asked to do an interview about this disorder, to bring awareness and hopefully support to families who are experiencing the exhausting battles we are facing. We agreed and to be quite honest, neither Tom or I remember anything we said. Still, I will soon share the video and I hope that it will reach the mom who has relentlessly loved and pursued her child, only to be violently attacked in return. I hope it reaches the sister who grew up hearing her sibling threaten to kill his mother, or himself, just to make her upset. I hope it reaches the child who spent a lifetime pushing away love, out of fear and self-protection. I hope that it reaches potential adoptive couples, that they would learn the signs to look for early on and be able to intervene at a much younger age than we have. I hope it reaches school social workers and child psychologists who have blown off parents saying "boys will be boys" or "all kids have tantrums" or "have you tried a reward chart?" I hope it reaches my readers and you all know that I have not intentionally kept you all in the dark out of pride or a desire to seem like we have the perfect life or family, but instead, I have had a deep sense of responsibility to protect the sacred story that belongs only to my son.

But now, we are in crisis. And we need support. And it has gotten so bad that there is no longer secondary content, this battle, this primary content, has taken over everything else and has become our exclusive content. So, it's time. I have come to a point where I believe that being isolated and keeping this season of our lives a secret would not protect or honor Harper, but would only isolate our family and ultimately, make him sicker.

So, here we are. Broken and in despair, fighting for our son's precious life, just as he fights against me... believing he too is fighting for his life. I will be blogging throughout this journey, but I don't know what it will look like or how much I will feel free to share. My prayer is that we are able to love Harper into the wholest and healthiest possible version of himself and since we believe in a God who does that very thing, we trust that it is possible.